by Brad R. Cook
Inside, Grand Master Sinclair greeted Chief Zwelethu. I cupped my ear to better hear the conversation. His deep Scottish accent filled the room. “Thank you for coming to London, Chief Zwelethu.”
“Your queen wishes to award me,” the chief stated. “But in truth, I come to speak with your warriors.”
“I know. But there are too many ears to speak about it now.”
I snapped back. Was Sinclair talking about me? The old guy had eyes in the back of his head, but what kind of crazy Templar magic was this?
Sinclair continued, “We can’t be too careful. Lord Blackthorne is here.”
Not me. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Chief Zwelethu remained stern. “I would like to speak of this matter before the ceremony.”
“Most definitely. Lord Cobblefield will speak with us after the main course.”
The chief’s face hardened and his hands curled into fists. “Why him?”
Sinclair’s voice softened. “I know you two have a history due to the war, but I can tell you when it comes to our enemies, you both are in agreement.”
A common enemy and tense allies—now that sounded interesting. Something was afoot. Of course, I would have to find them later to hear that conversation. As they stepped into the ballroom, Sinclair patted the chief’s back. Chief Zwelethu turned his head to look at the hand, disturbed by the gesture.
With the two men gone, I snuck back up the staircase and settled back on the landing. My father stepped out of the ballroom and looked up and down the hall. I didn’t know if he was looking for me, but he didn’t see me with my elbows perched on the railing. When he turned to go back inside, I hurried down to the main ballroom doors, where two footmen ushered me into the grand room.
Heads spun around as I entered. Their faces were a mix of, “Who is that?” followed by, “Oh, no one important.” I quickly shuffled to the table where my father sat.
“There you are.” He pointed to the chair. “Don’t make me glue you down.”
“What’s this party for?” I asked.
“We are welcoming Chief Zwelethu to England.”
“I just saw him in the hall.”
“That’s nice,” my father said dismissively as he craned his neck to find the chieftain and his son over the heads of all the noblemen.
“But …” My father wasn’t listening. Right now, I knew whatever I said would only receive a half-hearted, ‘That’s nice’. So, I said, “Old books smell like dusty mold.”
He glanced over at me, a quizzical look on his face. Really? This one time he’s paying attention? I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. My father leaned in. “Yes, he’s here to meet with the Order, but we’ve talked about this, Alexander.” he reminded me. Then without any warning, he grabbed my face and kissed my forehead. I scrunched up. “You’re not to get involved until after your studies are completed.”
I rolled my eyes, but nodded in agreement.
He tousled my hair, and then returned to staring at the Zulu over the nobles. Bored, I stared down at the plate in front of me and ran my finger around the edge of the gold and porcelain charger plate with the Marbury family crest in its center. I don’t know why I needed a plate for my plates. Of course, Father would tell me, “It’s the proper way.”
The smell of roses snagged my senses, as a slender hand reached out and tapped my shoulder. Before I could turn around, Genevieve’s sweet English accent filled my ear. “Hey Sky Raider.”
CHAPTER 3
MURDER BEFORE DESSERT
“Genevieve!” I jumped up, almost knocking over my chair. “They said you weren’t coming back.” I started to reach out and hug her, but she stepped back and her eyes grew large, so I froze mid-gesture. I realized, as did she, where I stood—in a ballroom full of noble born—and if I hugged her, I would seriously break decorum.
She stepped back away from me, and said, “We slipped into the city. My father didn’t want to make a big deal about coming home.”
“That’s magnificent!” I shifted as if the world wobbled on its axis. “I mean … welcome back.”
“Thank you,” she said, with her sweet expression that lit the room, and caused me to sway, unsure if I’d eventually give in to my wobbly legs.
My mind reeled. I wanted to tell her a thousand things. Everything I’d been through, everything I felt while she was away, but the words bunched up in my throat and I choked on them. They wouldn’t budge. I’d spent every day since she left, thinking of the perfect question to ask upon her return, but I hadn’t prepared for the scent of rose petals, or the surprise at hearing her sweet voice again. I had an entire script memorized, to ensure I was cool, calm, and collected when I saw her again. But that vanished, along with every language I knew, leaving me with only a panicked expression, and oddly, thinking in Gaelic. So, all that came out was, “Is your father feeling better?”
Idiot.
She nodded. “He recovered quickly in the dry dessert air.” Tension slipped from her shoulders. “He hardly rested. We dealt with grave robbers and a mummy while in Egypt.”
All my boring stories of Eton, my father’s office, and freezing in my drafty room fizzled in my throat. She’d been living a life of adventure, and I’d been stuck in my studies. Not fair! “Did the mummy attack?”
“Kind of.” Her brow wrinkled. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. Could she have been attacked by a real mummy, just like I’d heard in stories? I was about to ask her more questions, when a voice from behind stopped me cold. A shiver zipped up my spine and I tensed. Prince Charming.
“Genevieve, how wonderful you’ve returned.” The silky, condescending voice of the Duke’s son slipped over my shoulder as he glided around me and took Genevieve’s hands into his own. “I’m so very sorry we kept missing each other in Alexandria.”
They were in my city. Together. The city founded by Alexander the Great. My namesake. Every muscle in my body trembled. My blood boiled, but then as I looked at Genevieve, I realized something. She wasn’t happy to see him. Genevieve had avoided him. I envisioned her fleeing his lecherous pursuits like Cleopatra from Octavian.
“Richard.” Her smile tensed but remained stoic. “It was unfortunate.”
“We were delighted to hear about your mother’s return.”
Genevieve hardened. Nothing more than a flash across her face, which was quickly replaced by her stoic grace. “Thank you. We are delighted.”
What? I wanted to ask. That can’t be. Genevieve told me her mother had passed away. She’d shone me the locket she wore around her neck with her mother’s picture. A remembrance. Hundreds of questions ran through my mind, but the pain in her eyes silenced me. She didn’t want to talk about it.
“Father decided to return to London,” she said to Richard. “I suppose the Empire needs him once more.”
“My dear Genevieve, I try to stay out of such things.” His smile looked contorted as he leaned down to kiss her gloved hand. “I was delighted to see that your father seemed in better spirits when we met in Cairo.” Genevieve’s betrothed took another step toward her, brushing in front of me. “By the by, that night at the pyramids was magical.”
My heart dropped into my shoes. Stupid. I knew I should have run off to the desert, instead of staying here. She’d already been to my city, and seen the pyramids, too. I should be the one looking into Genevieve’s eyes, saying those things to her. Not … not him.
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed. She pulled her hands from his grasp and toyed with the silver locket around her neck. “I … I must not have found the sandstorm as magical as you, Richard.”
He let out an uneasy chuckle, while I smiled. The moment had turned incredibly awkward. Mr. Perfect wasn’t so perfect after all. Still, I wanted to punch him, or at least stomp on his perfectly polished boots. Anything to wrinkle his perfect façade.
A whirling gear shattered the moment, as a winged automaton struck a bronze gong and the room reverberated. Everyone turned. Lord Marbury motioned for
us all to sit. Smiling at his guests, he said, “You’ll have to indulge me. I acquired that magnificent piece on a recent trip to India.”
Genevieve grasped my forearm. I turned to her, but her eyes remain fixed on the double doors. A woman, elegant, unescorted, entered the room. She walked into the ballroom with the grace and charm of a noblewoman. Immediately, I was struck by the beauty of her short, auburn hair, a style I’d never seen on noblewoman before. She bowed her head, a soft smile parting her lips as she made her way through the crowd, seemingly not noticing the whispers spinning up as she passed. When she reached the baron, she extended her hands out to him and kissed him passionately. Some guests gasped, but most faces held large smiles. Without a word, Genevieve released my arm, stepped away, and joined Richard, the Duke, and her family.
Three long tables filled the room in a ‘U’ shape. I sat at the end of one arm. Genevieve sat in the middle, and although we weren’t that far apart, in terms of the blue-blooded society sitting in front of me, we were worlds away from each other.
I didn’t listen to much of what Lord Marbury said. My focus was on Genevieve. As if she knew I was staring at her, she looked over and her eyes lit up, igniting a fire within me. I smiled back. Without taking her eyes from me, she leaned into her father, who whispered in her ear.
Then I saw Richard staring at me. A cold, devilish look, earmarked with a disgusted turn of his chin. He didn’t approve. My smile faded. I returned his stare. I didn’t approve of him, either.
The doors swung open and servants entered with the first course of cold soup. Soon they arrived with a tiny pheasants with barely enough meat on the bones. I started to wonder if anything I would actually eat might be placed in front of me tonight.
After the main course, while a bard sang tales in center of the hall, Grand Master Sinclair stood up and headed in the hall. . He was followed by Baron Kensington, the Duke, and Lord Marbury, who escorted Chief Zwelethu through the side door.
This was it. The secret meeting was about to take place. I thought about Genevieve. I knew she’d want to listen, but she was surrounded by nobles, and it would be rude of me to interrupt. With my father locked in a debate with the gentleman next to him, I saw my chance. Not wanting to miss a word, I got up and slipped into the hall, and watched as Lord Marbury walked into a parlor room and closed the door. I pressed against the wall looking back and forth to make sure no one followed me. Inside, muffled voices talked over each other.
With no one in the hall, I slid up to the door and crouched down to spy through the keyhole. My vision was limited, but I saw the baron pacing back and forth, while Sinclair and a man I didn’t know sat across from Chief Zwelethu, who had deep scowl on his face. The other men, too, appeared anxious. Must be serious.
Footsteps. The hard-heeled boots of the house guards echoed behind me. Another step and they’d catch me for certain. I stepped back and my elbow bumped a large porcelain vase. I ducked behind it and held my breath. .
The house guards continued on, but the door I’d been spying at swung open, and someone thundered by. I stayed behind the vase, but the footsteps moving down the hall sounded soft, padded, like bare feet. I wanted to peek from behind my hiding place, but didn’t dare. There’d be no way to explain my presence here.
The hard heel of a boot followed and Genevieve’s father called out, “Chief Zwelethu! Wait, please come back. We still have matters to discuss.” Then after a brief pause, he added, “He didn’t mean it.”
The chief stopped. “I will not.” He spoke softly, but his tone was harsh. “Never put that man in the same room with me again, for I will kill him.”
Resigned, the baron replied, “I understand.”
“No, I do not think you do,” Chief Zwelethu said. “But you are a better man than most of the lords I have met.”
I peeked around the vase as Chief Zwelethu headed off. Lord Marbury stepped out of the room next to the baron, and was followed by Sinclair. In his Scottish drawl, Sinclair asked, “Now what do we do?”
Lord Marbury sighed. “Do as he said; keep Lord Cobblefield away from him.”
“We can do that.” Sinclair pounded his fist against his palm. “Did Lord Cobblefield fight in the Zulu Wars?”
“I believe so,” Baron Kensington said. “But it shouldn’t matter. Did the man have to use the word ‘savage’?”
I waited as the men wandered down the hall, their voices growing ever softer. When I couldn’t hear them any longer, I poked my head up over of the vase. Stepping out from behind it, I returned to the ballroom. Searching the room for Genevieve, I quickly took my seat at my table, I saw everyone but Chief Zwelethu. Lord Cobblefield had returned, too. He looked annoyed. He sat down and immediately gulped down his drink.
Lord Cobblefield coughed and twitched, a look of surprise washed across his face, and then he dropped his goblet. He clawed at his throat as he gasped for air and jerked up out of his chair, grabbing at the woman next to him. She pulled away and screamed as Cobblefield crashed forward onto the table. Several nobles covered their faces and gasped.
My father, along with the baron, Grand Master Sinclair, and Lord Marbury entered the room and ran to his aid. The baron and my father pulled him up off the table and laid him on the floor. By the look on their faces, it was too late. Lord Cobblefield gargled one last horrific cry, and with one final exhale, he died.
Panic erupted throughout the ballroom. Except for the four men standing around the body—an honor guard amidst the chaos—the room cleared quickly. Seeing me, Genevieve resisted, but Richard swept her up and escorted out of the room, too. I hadn’t moved from my chair. And no one noticed.
“Damn it. What the hell just happened?” Grand Master Sinclair snarled as he smacked the head of his cane against his palm. “Check the glass.” Baron Kensington pointed to the overturned goblet. “Perhaps he was poisoned.”
“But we all drank the wine,” Lord Marbury said, fidgeting. “You don’t think it could be dark tribal magic, do you?”
The baron whipped around. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. Chief Zwelethu and his people are Zulu, honorable warriors, knights of their land. I don’t know what this is, but we can’t jump to the wrong conclusions.”
My father leaned into the body. “He was definitely poisoned.” He pointed to the man’s face, still twisted in a final scream. “His tongue, those dark veins, they don’t look natural.”
.“Then the murderer was here at my party,” Lord Marbury said.
Grand Master Sinclair straightened up and fixed his vest. “Gentlemen, we have a killer among us. We must focus our efforts on finding him.”
A mystery. Could it be the chief? I wondered, He had been stern with the lord just before his death. No one else at the party had threaten to kill him if they were in the same room again. Maybe I was wrong, but the chief didn’t seem the type of person to poison someone—more like the challenge-you-to-open-combat type.
I twisted around in my chair and knocked my glass over, and it clinked against my plate, spilling the contents. All four men spun around, the baron and Sinclair with their hands on the hilts of their sword canes.
“Alexander!” My father sounded relieved. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I—”
Father walked up to me and turned me around. “No. Head upstairs. We will be staying here tonight.”
CHAPTER 4
THE COLONIST AND THE SAVAGE
The next morning, I dressed in my school uniform and headed down to meet my father. When I reached the front hall, I found him with Owethu. As usual, my father had his notebook open, the place he wrote down all his translations and whatever alphabet he was working on at the time.
Owethu looked over at me as he tugged at the starched collar of his Eton College uniform. He looked even more uncomfortable in the tailed coat and striped wool pants than I did. I gave him a sympathetic nod.
My father lifted up his head. “Ah good, Alexander. Good morning. I have to be at Eton e
arly for a meeting, so you’ll have to pick up something to eat there.”
“Will we be coming back here tonight?”
“No.” He tugged on his glasses. “Well, Owethu will, but you’ll be back in your own bed.” My father ushered us out to the steamcarriage.
I nodded with a half smile. The bed had been really comfortable, but Lord Marbury’s home felt more like a museum than a house, and I didn’t like that I couldn’t touch anything.
I waved to Finn, who waited by the steamcarriage. “I would have thought you’d be driving the baron around.”
“The baron sent me here, wants to make certain the chief’s son gets to Eton in nice right shape.” He leaned in to me. “Did you see yet who’s in town, Master Armitage?”
“We spoke last night at the party.”
My face must have betrayed my thoughts because Finn grinned and winked. Then he pulled off his hat, letting loose his wild orange hair, and poked me in the ribs. “She asked about you.”
Before I could ask him what she said, my father’s voice came from inside the steamcarriage, “Alexander, don’t dawdle.” Finn laughed, plopped his hat back on his head, and ushered me into the steam carriage
What had she asked? I wanted to know. Even though Finn couldn’t tell me, she’d asked about me, which was promising.
Owethu stared out the window as the steam carriage sped down the road. He fidgeted a lot—more than me, and that wasn’t easy. He kept shaking his feet and I noticed he wasn’t wearing socks. It felt rude not to say anything to him during the ride, so I asked, “What division are you in?”
His wrinkled brow let me know he had no idea what I meant. This was common when talking about Eton, which wasn’t like any school I’d attended in America.